Gemotions

The sun blazed down on David, but he felt a distinct coolness, a pervasive chill. The porch swing creaked rhythmically, a mocking tempo to the slow drumming in his temples. Mrs. Chen, a woman always brimming with laughter, stood at his property line.

"David," she said, her usual cheerfulness tinged with a hint of awkwardness, "I was planning a butterfly garden, and my space… well, it's not quite enough. Could I, perhaps, use a small portion of your yard? It would be wonderful for the butterflies." The thought of flitting wings, of life and color, made his vision blur for a moment.

He just stared at the ground. It all felt so difficult, so heavy. A simple task, a request for space, felt like a mountain to climb. He nodded, unable to meet her gaze, the silence stretching between them like a taut wire.